


Deep Waters

by Professorwhy



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Aldrich - Freeform, Lore - Freeform, One Shot, Short One Shot, soulsborne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 13:30:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18852046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Professorwhy/pseuds/Professorwhy
Summary: A tone piece about the possible future that might have come in "The Age of Deep Waters" that Aldrich foretold





	Deep Waters

**Author's Note:**

> I tend to write things like this in 5-20 minute sprees without much in the way of editing or revising. The intent (if there is any) is more to do with imagery and feeling than to do with a coherent plot since that is my favorite part of the souls series.

For it is written on the bells that lay in the sea. That all who should hear the toll of the deep will lament the parting of the fire. And for what comes next we prayed. We pray now it never comes again.

At the even tides of world’s end and the quelling of noble rights. A world devoid of agency and strength of will. Now only even tides. Now only calm. For without the tension of man, it is no world at all.

On far shores of thought, a hope lingers in the hollows of the land. And if myth is story and story legacy what should we hope for but one last story.

Arisen from heaps of ash and dust in a world without a hue. The end began and ended so very long ago and only the storms and swells of ocean and sky linger as a remnant of being. One body tells no story but a mass echo too loud to discern.

One body with blade and symbol heaves to shores beginning and shores end. There is no place in this world for any, nor them. Guarded, enmasked and fraught without determination a single soldier marches to oceans door. Falling into a tumbling world of violent serenity; of lapis and shadow, born to die. Dead a warrior of a battlefield that none remain to know.

And for who is history written when the last is all there is?

In tombs of night at watered downs, a thing strikes. If a monster or symbol, no distinction is any longer made. Crossed with brand and sole intent two fight as one and one tell two stories.

There is no sound in the endless sea but clashes of emotions without voice need no presence to be heard. And the thing of immensity and undulating cruel natures lamenting wails were never needed, never sought but everywhere.

As ends come and go the unknown foes leave for ends and victory are never more distinct. No wills no fates. Only an endless procession of ways into waves.

Then from the heaps of ash; another blade, another march, another end to play out from the beginning.


End file.
